


in your eyes alone i found grace

by lightwoodlover



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (of sorts), Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anxiety, Ballet, Character Study, Depression, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Texting, Victor Nikiforov-centric, tbh i just wanted to write about ballerina Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightwoodlover/pseuds/lightwoodlover
Summary: The one in which Victor Nikiforov, five time world champion, is still more than a little lost on the ice and finds love and life in one Katsuki Yuuri, principal dancer with the Boston Ballet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yuri on Ice has somehow managed to convince me to start writing so here it is, the ballet dancer!Yuuri fic no one asked for but I wanted to write. This fic is probably going to end up being a love letter dedicated to both dance and figure skating, but mostly dance because I don't know where I'd be without it. It made me very happy that Yuuri did ballet in the actual anime, so I wanted to celebrate that.
> 
> It's not super heavy on dance terminology or anything, because it's from Victor's POV, but the biggest thing you need to know to understand is that Onegin is a very famous ballet based off a story by Alexander Pushkin. It's a classic in Russia from what I understand. There's not many videos on youtube because it's relatively recent and copyrighted still, but Royal Ballet and San Francisco Ballet both have a few videos talking about what it's like to perform it, with bits of dance sprinkled into the video. I'd suggest you check it out, and if you ever get the chance, to see the actual Ballet because it's gorgeous.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! 
> 
> (also bonus points to anyone who recognizes where the title is from!)

If you ask, Victor will say that Yakov makes him do it, but that’s a lie and everyone knows it. It’s been ages since Yakov has been able to make Victor do anything he doesn’t want to do. Victor will say that it was curiosity, and nothing else, but it doesn’t explain why he goes back night after night. He’ll say a lot of things that he doesn’t quite mean because the one thing that he wants to say is the one he won’t admit to himself: that the ice has never felt colder and the more he skates, the emptier he feels inside.

Where is there to go once you’ve reached the top? Once you’ve won every gold medal there is to win, every title there is to take?

Here’s the answer he knows and doesn’t want to admit: you fall.

  


He takes Yuri Plisetsky with him. The younger skater grumbles all the way there, muttering curses under his breath that Victor cheerfully ignores, too used to Yuri’s fifteen year old antics to be bothered by them now. He knows that Yuri only comes because it’s him asking. He knows what it feels like to be young and new, to make someone your hero. He’s spent too much time as Russia’s darling not to know how to deal with the adoration and worship. So he’ll smile at Yuri and give him some choice advice occasionally and ignore the way the younger boy reminds him too much of himself at that age, too focused on doing bigger and better jumps, too focused on winning, and always wanting more.

Victor debuted in the junior circuits at thirteen. He won silver at worlds that year in a shocking upset and went back to Russia hungry. Yakov had to yell at him to get off the ice more than once but Victor has never looked back since, too in love with the feeling of flying across the ice and the adrenaline of competitions. He won gold the next year, and the year after that. His senior debut was possibly the most anticipated in the history of ice skating, the bronze at worlds that year a disappointment to no one but himself. It had only made him vow to work even harder. He’s been on top of the world since he was sixteen. Sometimes he forgets what it’s like not to be at the height of greatness.

Yuri is fifteen now, and doesn’t know what it feels like to lose more and more of yourself. Victor’s always prided himself on being unpredictable. He could’ve kept winning with the program he had, the quad salchow and quad toe being the only quads he needed. His execution had been flawless, his GOE’s always 2’s and 3’s, but he had refused to become stagnant, had forced himself to learn the quad flip and perfect it. When he’d unveiled it, he’d relished the shouts of the crowd and the surprise of the commentators. He’d felt alive in a way he hasn’t in a long time, because the thing that no one tells you about being surprising is that people learn to expect the unexpected.

He skated and he won gold. He skated and he won gold. He skated and he won gold again.

He skated until he couldn’t feel it anymore and wonders why no one ever picks up on how blank he feels.

  


They’re at the front of the line now, handing their tickets to the lady standing by the entrance.

“I still don’t know why you had to drag me along,” Yuri says beside him, and Victor can feel the people behind them glaring.

“Yuri,” he says, dragging out the vowels in his name, “think of it as a learning experience. We cross train in ballet for a reason, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Yuri says.

“Oh, here we go! Help me find our seats, Yuri.”

He tells Yuri it’s a learning experience, but he doesn’t really know why he decided to buy tickets to the Boston Ballet’s tour, either. It had been a whim, another impulse decision made to try and shake him from this lethargy he feels. More likely than not he’ll go home the same as ever. Another night in his bed, trying not to think about the questions the reporters never stop asking. When are you going to retire? What are your plans for next season? Do you think you can compete with the younger skaters? Do you think you can compete with Plisetsky?

Yuri is fidgeting with the program beside him. He flips through it once, twice.

“You can’t possibly have read that,” Victor tells him.

“I can’t believe they were brave enough to bring Onegin to Russia. That’s our pride and joy. I can’t wait till they fuck it up.”

Victor wants to chide Yuri for saying that but he can’t bring himself to. There is some truth to Yuri’s words-- Onegin is a Russian classic and for an American company to try to dance the ballet in its home country is daring. Victor personally has never been one for the story-- he finds it too slow, too contrived-- but he knows that the audience will be watching every move onstage, waiting to see if the American company can possibly do Onegin justice.

The lights dim.

He sees Yuri straighten in his seat and smiles.

The ballet opens. He doesn’t think much of it at first. Of course, the sets are beautiful, the music soaring, the costumes gorgeous and the dancing itself technical but there’s nothing special about it. Tatiana is decent enough he supposes, although she could flap her arms a bit less. He’s about to count the night as a loss when Onegin enters the stage.

Victor doesn’t know what it is. He watches as Onegin cruelly rips apart Tatiana’s love confession, as he casts her aside like nothing and he can’t stop feeling, can’t help but lose himself in Onegin’s dancing and the way he moves with such raw emotion. He watches the dream pas de deux, as Tatiana imagines the love of her life and wonders how the same dancer can portray such varied emotions so intimately. He watches as the story unfolds and imagines that he’s up there on the stage too, feeling everything Onegin is. Victor thinks, this is how I want to skate.

During intermission he grabs the program from Yuri.

“Hey old man,” Yuri yells. “At least ask me.”

“You don’t need it,” Victor tells him absently. He’s flipping through the program frantically, until he sees it: Yuuri Katsuki. The man who’s dancing Onegin tonight.  


 

Victor is uncharacteristically quiet as they leave the theater. Even Yuri notices it, and stays quiet for once. They walk together in silence, Victor’s head filled with the final scene of the ballet, a stunning role reversal as Onegin-- Katsuki-- begs for Tatiana’s love.

  


Victor can’t explain why he returns. This time he comes without Yuri’s grumbling and sits in the back of the theater, alone but content to forget himself in the performance. His eyes never leave Katsuki’s figure as he dances across the stage.  He comes back the next night as well, and the night after that. Everytime he discovers something he’d missed, a little gesture or sigh or arm movement that gives more complexity to the character. It steals his breath away. It’s beautiful.

Too soon, it’s their closing night. Victor doesn’t know what he’ll do without this. He doesn’t ever want to let this feeling go, afraid that it will leave him and he won’t ever know what it is to feel again just like the way he lost his love of skating to the endless competitions and crowds. This scares him more than anything and it’s what finds him walking to the back of the theater after the show, unsure of what he hopes to do or find.

He loiters by the backstage door, half hidden in the shadows of the night and the corner of the building and watches as the dancers exit in twos and threes, chatting and laughing. He feels vaguely creepy, more than a little out of place, he’s never felt more sure of something in his life. He knows he needs to be here, needs to see this man who dances so stunningly and with such expressive quality.

Yuuri Katsuki walks through the door. Victor would recognize him anywhere now having spent too much time staring at his form on the stage. He’s alone, and it seems like he’s the last person out because he locks the door behind him carefully. Victor hasn’t thought about this part of the plan at all, but he’s always been good at smiling at the cameras and saying what they want to hear. He figures it’ll be the same. Victor plasters on his most charming smile, the one he saves for the televisions and the ladies and steps out into the light of the streetlamp.

Yuuri jumps. Victor smiles.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I startled you! My name is Viktor Nikiforov. I’m a huge fan of yours.” He says this with all the earnesty he can muster, draws on the memories of his own fans or Yuri’s Angels.

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “That’s.. Nice.”

Victor plows on. “I absolutely loved your Onegin. I’ve never been a fan of the actual story you know? Too much Russian Literature in school turned me off Pushkin, but the way you danced him seemed so alive. It’s like you make the music with your body. I think you could flap your arms a little less though, it makes you look a bit like a noodle. Hold them from your back.”

The last part is something Lilia never stopped yelling at Victor until she gave up on him. It’s pretty much all he knows about ballet but he thinks it can’t hurt to pass on a famous prima ballerina’s advice.

“I-- what?” Yuuri asks. “My arms are fine, thank you.”

“If you say so,” Victor says, because there’s no way he’s taking it back and making a fool of himself now.

Yuuri is turning slightly red now, his once slicked back hair starting to fall out of place and around his face.

“I don’t have to answer to this, “ he says, and makes to go.

Victor panics and grabs Yuuri’s arm without thinking. “I mean it. About the dancing. It’s truly inspiring.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says but even Victor can tell he doesn’t really mean it. Victor knows that he’s managed to screw this up and needs to find some way to salvage the situation, fast. He thinks again of charming the reporters and his fans so he says, “I’m really sorry. Let me make this up to you with dinner.”

This, it seems, pushes Yuuri out of his depth. He almost drops his bags and turns red and Victor delights in the way he splutters through his answer, the shock clearly evident on his face.

“I- what-- no! I’m not going to dinner with a stranger.”

“But Yuuri,” Victor whines, “we’re not strangers anymore. You know my name.”

“Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri murmurs almost absent mindedly. “Wait, that’s not the point here. Thank you for being a fan, but I don’t know you and I’m not going to dinner with you.”

“But-”

“No. That’s a final answer.” With that, Yuuri shakes his sleeve loose of Victor’s grip and starts to walk away.

Victor doesn’t know what he wanted to happen but he knows that this isn’t it.  He sees Yuuri walking away and he thinks about the past year and how it felt a little too much like drowning every day.

“Can I- Can I have your number?” he blurts out without meaning to, as if that’s going to make this situation any better. He’s cursing at himself internally, Victor you dumb fuck you probably creeped him out, what were you thinking oh god--

But Yuuri says yes and Victor thinks his world shifts a little because oh, that was unexpected and--

  


He apologizes. More accurately, he spends a week agonizing over the number Yuuri gives him until it’s 1 am one night and he impulse sends the text before he can stop himself.

 **Victor Nikiforov** : Hi, Yuuri. This is Victor Nikiforov. You know, the handsome stranger you meet at the stage door the other day? I wanted to apologize if I offended you that day, and or pushed any boundaries. I truly didn’t mean to. I really am a fan of your dancing. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before. It’s like I can see the music.

Mila helped him with the apology part. He’s really very proud of it.

 **Victor Nikiforov** : I’ms orry, that’s probably creepy again. It’s like

 **Victor Nikiforov** : It’s like

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : ?

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : It’s ok

 **Yuuri Katsuki:** I think I get what you’re trying to say.

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : Thanks

Victor’s never understand why Yuri’s so violent sometimes but right now he wants to throw his phone at the wall the Yuri does all the time. This is his one chance and he can’t even get out the words he wants. He can never seem to say what he wants to anymore, not through his skating and not even over text apparently.

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : So

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : I heard you’re kind of famous?

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : Skating or somethin?

 **Victor Nikiforov** : !!!!!!

 **Victor Nikiforov** : You remembered my name!!!!!

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : Um

 **Yuuri Katsuki** : Yes sorry?

 **Victor Nikiforov** : no don’t be!! I’m glad ;D

 **Yuuri Katsuki:**  ok, night

 **Victor Nikiforov** : YUUUURI

  
Victor tries to go to sleep that night but he can’t stop thinking about their conversation. Yuuri remembered his name, and looked him up apparently. Or maybe the name just rang a bell; Victor’s pretty famous after all. Either way it doesn’t matter. The first reply was more than he ever deserved, honestly, and those few lines of text have excited him in a way he’s never felt before. It’s a bit like being a 12 year old girl waiting for her crush to text her back, Victor thinks. He’s used to being the one with the power in his relationships, all coy smiles and charming lines that fluster and flatter, but texting Yuuri is unsettling in a good way. He’s never been this on edge about a text before, never wanted somebody’s approval this badly. It’s ages before he’s able to put it out of his mind and go to sleep. Yakov yells at him the next morning, and practice is hell on ice, but Victor doesn’t regret a single thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the thing about Yuuri: he stays when he absolutely doesn’t have to. In fact, Victor completely doesn’t expect him to. Hell, he thinks even he wouldn’t have been this kind to a stranger who asked him for his number out of the blue like a fucking creeper but Yuuri is one of a kind.

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you never answered my question

**Victor Nikiforov:** which one?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** about you

**Yuuri Katsuki:** and skating

**Victor Nikiforov:** oh

**Victor Nikiforov:**  that

**Victor Nikiforov:**  hi hi !! you’re texting one 5 time world champion victor nikiforov!! ;))

**Yuuri Katsuki:** that’s seriously amazing

**Yuuri Katsuki:** makes me wonder what I’m doing with my life haha

**Victor Nikiforov:**  you’re a principal with the boston ballet???

**Victor Nikiforov:**  that’s so impressive??

**Yuuri Katsuki:** but that’s nothing compared to 23874934829 medals

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you’re the best in your field

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i’m definitely not the best dancer out there haha

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s really nothing

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s nothing like the way you move

**Victor Nikiforov:**  elegant and refined and beautiful and so free

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it makes me want to be tatiana in that last scene :O

**Victor Nikiforov:**   ;)

**Yuuri Katsuki:** oh my god

**Yuuri Katsuki:** I’m gonna stop texting you

**Victor Nikiforov:**  you wouldn’t

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i would

**Victor Nikiforov:**  NO

**Yuuri Katsuki:** bye Victor

**Yuuri Katsuki:** :)

 

He doesn’t keep his word. Victor is eternally grateful. It’s quite funny actually, because Yuuri texts him about a million frantic apologies not soon afterwards. They’re all some variation on “it was a joke” and “i didn’t really mean it” and Victor only laughs at him and tells Yuuri it’s fine, it was probably justified. Secretly Victor is pleased and relieved. Practice that day goes by in a bit of a blur. Victor doesn’t know if it’s the way he almost runs into Yuri on the ice or the way he never stops looking back towards his phone, but he’s distracted and it shows. Yakov takes one look at him and tells him to get it together or skate it out. Yuri tells him it’s the goofy smile on his face, albeit less tactfully.

(“Will you stop fucking smiling? It’s creepy, it just doesn’t stop. Ever. What’s even gotten you like this?”

Victor only skates a circle around Yuri and then launches himself into a flawless quad flip. 

“Show off,” Yuri murmurs, but he immediately skates after Victor.)

  
  


**Yuuri Katsuki:** i looked up some of your videos

**Victor Nikiforov:**  :O

**Yuuri Katsuki:** sorry if that’s creepy lol

**Victor Nikiforov:**  Yuuri

**Victor Nikiforov:**  nothing’s going to beat me waiting for you to leave the theater in terms of creepy

**Yuuri Katsuki:** tru

**Victor Nikiforov:** you’re not supposed to agree???

**Yuuri Katsuki:** too late 

**Victor Nikiforov:** i have never been more betrayed

**Victor Nikiforov:** how could you yuuri

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you said it yourself

**Victor Nikiforov:**  so what did you think??

Victor sends this last text and throws his phone to the side. He doesn’t want to watch the blue bubble that says Yuuri is typing. It takes Yuuri a minute to answer and in that minute, Victor manages to rip an entire piece paper to shreds. He hopes it wasn’t important. Victor hears the notification from his phone and almost drops it in his haste to pick up his phone.

**Yuuri Katsuki:** it’s breathtaking

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i don’t know why they say skating’s a sport only

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i look at your programs and i see incredible artistry and musicality

Victor reads these messages and lets out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding. He brushes the paper confetti off his lap and starts to type a reply, but his fingers pause over the keyboard. Yuuri’s answer doesn’t please him like he thinks it should. Victor feels like a cheat somehow, a bit like a demagogue, like he’s somehow conned the world into believing in something that doesn’t exist. He’s saved from having to think of an answer by Yuuri himself.

**Yuuri Katsuki:** Stammi Vicino is my favorite

**Yuuri Katsuki:** it’s beautiful, but there’s a bit of sadness to it

**Yuuri Katsuki:** it’s a little like a cry for help

**Yuuri Katsuki:** sorry it that’s weird

**Victor Nikiforov:**  no it’s not

**Victor Nikiforov:**  Thank you, yuuri

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i mean it

  
  


Yakov finally confronts Victor after a week of making himself scarce. Victor’s been expecting it for a while now. Her knows he can’t avoid his coach forever but he does his best until Yakov corners him at the side of the rink while he’s watching Yuri’s program. Yuri had asked him (yelled at him) for advice and Victor had easily complied, so willing to be distracted from his own attempts at choreographing. He sees Yakov marching towards him out of the corner of his eye and vaguely debates slipping to the bathroom or somewhere else but Yakov looks determined enough to follow him and Victor knows that Yakov’s anger will only grow the more Victor avoids him. 

Yakov takes him a little ways off from the rink to where the other skaters can’t overhear. They’ve both seen the jealousy and hunger in the other Russian skaters’ eyes to know better. Victor’s friendly enough with them, but he knows there are those who won’t hesitate to stab him in the back if given the chance. Yuri is one of the few exceptions, but that’s because he says he’s good enough to win without any of that nonsense. (He is.)

Victor leaves Yuri to his own program and follows Yakov, the dread building in his chest, threatening to overwhelm. He knows what Yakov will want and he doesn’t know if he can give it to him.

“Vitya,” Yakov begins, slowly, with more care than Victor has ever heard from him. Yakov has never been afraid to be blunt with Victor. He knows that Victor can handle it, relishes it even that at least someone won’t take care when talking to him. Their yelling matches are the stuff of legends. This more than anything, makes Victor uneasy. “Have you thought about what you’re doing next season?”

“Yes,” Victor says with a serene smile that feels like anything but, and doesn’t elaborate.

“And?” Yakov asks after it’s clear that Victor isn’t going to volunteer the information himself. “Have you decided anything?”

Victor glances towards the rink and pretends to watch one of Yuri’s jumps to buy himself time. It’s good, his knee only buckling slightly as he lands and Yuri recovers easily enough.

“Tell him to release his position in the air slightly earlier, “ Victor says in lieu of an answer.

“You don’t know the first thing about coaching,” Yakov snaps, crossing his arms. “Even if you did retire, you have an entire professional career ahead of you.”

Victor gives a noncommittal hum and shrugs. He doesn’t admit that the idea of a professional career repels him. Skate a few ice shows, make some public performances, collect a paycheck and feel as dead as ever? It’s worse than what he feels now. They stand next to each other in silence, both quietly watching the skaters fly past on the rink. Finally, Yakov sighs.

“You do have to decide eventually, you know.”

“I know,” Victor says. He looks back at the older man and means it when he says, “Sorry, Yakov.”   


Yakov’s eyebrows shoot up. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you apologize to me, boy.”

Victor laughs at that. “Maybe I should do it more often, “ he says.

“Don’t. It makes me think you’re up to something,” Yakov tells him with a grave expression. “My blood pressure is high enough between you and Yuri.”

Yakov looks genuinely worried, which Victor supposes isn’t unwarranted. The number of headaches and fuck you’s Victor has given to the Russian ISU speaks for itself.

“I won’t then,” Victor says with a smile. As much as the two of them have fought, Yakov’s still the closest thing to family Victor has anymore. And the poor man’s suffered enough over the years. “I’m still thinking about it,” he offers.

“I just want what’s best for you, Vitya,” Yakov says, and puts a hand on his shoulder in an unusually affectionate gesture. “Whatever you do, make sure it’s what you want.”

Victor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting the words wash over him. He’s beyond grateful to Yakov for this, but the problem is that he doesn’t know what he wants.  He opens his eyes and looks at Yuri again.

“Thanks, Yakov.”

The man grunts. “I can keep the ISU off your back for a few more weeks, but you’ll need to give them an answer eventually.”

“I know.”

  
  
  


**Yuuri Katsuki:** sorry I went to sleep

**Victor Nikiforov:**  oh yah i forgot

**Victor Nikiforov:**  you’re still on tour idk what time zone you’re in anymore

**Victor Nikiforov:**  good luck on your shows!!!!!!!!

**Yuuri Katsuki:** thanks!!

**Victor Nikiforov:**  how are they going??

**Yuuri Katsuki:** good, but exhausting

**Victor Nikiforov:**  oh i’d imagine

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you don’t even know

**Yuuri Katsuki:** or you would probably know actually ice skating’s pretty hard

**Yuuri Katsuki:** it’s just dance eat sleep dance eat sleep except sometime we don’t even get to sleep

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i feel

**Victor Nikiforov:**  sounds so exhausting tho, at least we get breaks in between competitions

**Yuuri Katsuki:** yeah

**Yuuri Katsuki:** sometimes its hell, but i wouldn’t give it up for the world

**Victor Nikiforov:**   it sounds like you really love it

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i do

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i didn’t really have many friends when i was little

**Yuuri Katsuki:** ballet was the one thing that got me through

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i honestly don’t know where i’d be without it

  
  


That night, Victor decides to take Makkachin for a walk. He’s been thinking about his conversation with Yakov all day and the biting cold air, still recovering from the harsh Russian winter, is a welcome distraction. Makkachin is glad to go. She hates being cooped up inside his apartment while Victor trains all day,a nd he resolves to take her out more.

They wander with no destination in mind. Victor is happy enough to let Makkachin take the lead tonight, and follows her as she explores. She bounds around the streets, sniffing and pawing at everything in delight. Victor smiles.

He’s lost track of where they are and finds that Makkachin has brought them to a small playground in the middle of a neighborhood. It is a small, dilapidated affair. The paint is peeling and one of the swings’ chains are broken, but there are two children on the slides, laughing regardless. They are seven, maybe eight. Makkachin trots up to them and they immediately abandon the swing in favor of petting her. Makkachin barks and jumps twice. She’s loving the attention and Victor is content to let her stay with the children a while.

He crosses the length of the playground in a few quick strides to sit on the bench by the side of the playground. The children have started to throw sticks for Makkachin to chase, and although the children can’t throw that far, it’s clear that they’re all having great fun. Makkachin takes to it with a relish and the children are falling over themselves as they laugh and run beside her.

It’s something from a movie, or maybe a storybook. It’s heartwarming, and something that Victor has never known. He tries to remember if he ever felt that young, that carefree and wild. Nothing comes to mind.

See, Victor is a competitive skater. Always has been. And he’s not just any skater either-- he’s Victor Nikiforov, the best of the best, five time world champion. Skating is in his bones and the ice is in his blood. There is nothing else. He had never wanted anything else, never needed it. Even at the age of seven he had been competing in the Intermediate levels and winning. He’d thrown himself head first and never looked back.

Victor still remembers the first time he stepped onto a rink. His mother had taken him, when she was still alive and he’d barely been four years old. The rink had seemed so vast and impossibly scary around him. His head hadn’t even cleared the walls of the rink. There had been so many people crowded at the public session and the noise had been so loud and overwhelming that he almost didn’t take that first step, but his mother had promised him hot chocolate afterwards. So he’d done it. He’d grabbed his mother’s outstretched hand and let her tug him across the ice out into the open. He’d fallen almost immediately, but it was too late: he’s tripped and bumped his knee, but he’d also fallen hard for his mistress, the ice. It was love at first sight.

He’d begged his mother to go back day after day until she’d finally given in. It had snowballed from there-- taking classes, Yakov scouting him, his first competition. Everything had fallen into place until he became Victor Nikiforov, five time world champion.

He doesn’t regret any of. He would never, but looking at these children now, so free and happy and untroubled, Victor feels oddly nostalgic for a childhood he never had. When the other children had played games outside, Victor had shut himself in a cold rink and drilled jumps over and over. When the other children had been going to each others’ houses and having sleepovers, Victor had been rushing home to finish his schoolwork and then collapsing on his bed. His childhood was never really a childhood. VIctor never would have done it he didn’t love skating with his entire heart, but right here in this moment, VIctor doesn’t know how to feel about it.

So when Victor says he’s a skater, he means it. When he says that skating is his life, he means it. The ice and the blades and the spins and the jumps have carved themselves a home in his heart and his life.

Now he wonders where that childlike wonder has gone. Where that love and devotion to skating has gone. Because nowadays, the most he feels is tired.

He’s interrupted from his thoughts by a distant yelling. One of the kids turn towards the sound. It’s one of their parents evidently, and both children let out a groan of disappointment before petting Makkachin one last time and running off. Makkachin whines once and returns to Victor. Victor runs a hand through his fur, sighing.

“Let’s go home, Makkachin,” he says.

 

**Victor Nikiforov:**  hey

**Victor Nikiforov:**  are u still up?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** hey

**Yuuri Katsuki:** yeah i am

**Yuuri Katsuki:** how are you?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  good!

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i just took Makkachin for a walk

**Yuuri Katsuki:** ?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  oh right

**Victor Nikiforov:**  Makkachin’s my poodle

**Victor Nikiforov:** do you like dogs, Yuuri?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** !!

**Yuuri Katsuki:** yes i do!!

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i have my own poodle back home in japan

**Victor Nikiforov:**  omg!!

**Victor Nikiforov:**  twinsies

**Victor Nikiforov:**  what’s his name?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** uh

**Yuuri Katsuki:** his name is V

**Victor Nikiforov:**  nice

**Victor Nikiforov:**  do you miss him?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** every day

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i don’t get to see him much since my company is based in america, but my family takes care of him.

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i’m sorry to hear that

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i can’t imagine being seperated from Makkachin honestly

**Yuuri Katsuki:** it’s hard, but it’s better for her in the run long

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i can’t take her on tour with me

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i understand

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i have to leave Makkachin at home when i go to competitions

**Yuuri Katsuki:** that must suck

**Victor Nikiforov:**  Yuuri!!!!!!!! I should be comforting you honestly idk whats wrong with me

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s nothing compared to ur situation

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i don’t think you can quantify pain like that u kno?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** we all have our relative hardships

**Victor Nikiforov:**  ah

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i feel

**Victor Nikiforov:**  but it’s still impressive, Yuuri

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i don’t know if i could do it

**Yuuri Katsuki:** eh

**Victor Nikiforov:**  just accept the compliment

**Yuuri Katsuki:** haha ok

**Yuuri Katsuki:** thanks!!!

**Victor Nikiforov:**  <3

 

Texting Yuuri becomes part of his routine,  like the way he wakes up, brushes his teeth, and makes breakfast every morning. It’s something he stops thinking about- he grabs his phone on the way out from practice everyday to send a quick hey to Yuuri. Sometimes he’ll get a response immediately, but more often than not he waits for Yuuri to reply. The other man is constantly traveling and dealing with crazy rehearsal schedules from what Victor can tell, so he’s content to wait for Yuuri to message him. Sometimes it’ll be something short, a simple how are you doing, and other times they’ll have long conversations into the night. Either way it doesn’t matter. Victor cherishes every conversation.

 

**Victor Nikiforov:**  from one to America, 

**Victor Nikiforov:**  how free are you tonight?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** oh god

**Yuuri Katsuki** : 0

**Victor Nikiforov:**  DDDD:

**Victor Nikiforov:**  that wasn’t even a choice!

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you gave me no choice

**Victor Nikiforov:**  WOW

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s ok i have more

**Yuuri Katsuki:** please don’t

**Victor Nikiforov:**  besides being gorgeous, what do you do for a living?

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you know this one

**Victor Nikiforov:**  yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuri

**Victor Nikiforov:**  you’re ruining my fun

**Yuuri Katsuki:** xoxo

**Victor Nikiforov:**  OMG

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i wish i as a derivative so i could lie tangent to your curves

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i don’t even have curves victor

**Victor Nikiforov:**  hush

**Victor Nikiforov:**  appreciate the bad pick up lines

**Yuuri Katsuki:** so you’re admitting they’re bad?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  NO

**Yuuri Katsuki** : “appreciate the bad pick up lines” -Victor Nikiforov, 2016

**Victor Nikiforov:**  stop this yuuri

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i thought you were a good person

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i am

**Victor Nikiforov:**   :(

  
  


“Who are you texting?” A lot of red hair fills Victor’s vision and he almost drops his phone.

“What?” he says.

“You! Who are you texting?” Mila repeats, stressing each word to get her point across. She puts her hands on her hips and leans into Victor’s space. “Come one now, Victor. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, don’t think we haven’t noticed you slacking off, old man,” Yuri says. “I’m gonna beat you at this rate.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Victor says.

Yuri grips his phone like he wants to hurl it at the rink. His hands shake with the effort and it leaves grooves in the flesh of his hands. As much as Victor is competition to Yuri, he’s still a legend. People never want to be reminded that legends die. Yuri is so obviously infuriated, torn between his desire to win but also his reluctance to see Victor lose. It’s delightful. Yuri’s so predictable.

Mila intervenes quickly. “You’ve been glued to your phone, Victor. Is it Chris? It is someone else? Are you going out with someone?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Victor says hastily. “It’s just- he’s just a friend.”

Mila’s eyes light up and Victor knows he’s made a mistake. Never give Mila and inch. She’ll take a mile and then your first born child, probably.  “Just a friend?”

“Yes,” Victor says. He smiles at Mila, daring her to contradict him. 

Mila only smiles back at him, unflinchingly. She’s been exposed to Victor too much now to be intimidated. “If you say so. What’s his name?”

“Yuuri,” Victor says with a shrug, and almost immediately regrets it. He’s forgotten that Yuri came with him to the ballet.

This time, Yuri actually throws his phone. It hits the wall of the rink with a loud crash and clatters to the floor. Yuri doesn’t seem to care. He’s too intent on Victor and what he just heard. 

“Yakov’s going to stop buying you phones if you keep doing that, Yuri,” Mila says, vaguely amused.

Yuri ignores her. “Isn’t that--”

“Oh look, Yakov’s yelling at me to go practice. Bye Mila, bye Yuri!”

“Bye Victor!” Mila says cheerfully, waving at Victor. The two of them might enjoy riling up Yuri a little too much. It’s just too easy. Yuri’s like the annoying baby brother neither of them had.

“You can’t get out of this, Victor!” he hears Yuri yelling somewhere behind him as Victor laces his skates in record time and hightails it to the ice.

Victor ignores Yuri all practice. It’s really not hard. He puts earphones in and skates around the rink and pretends that he’s unable to hear anything Yuri says, no matter how loud the boy yells. Eventually Yakov himself intervenes and shouts at Yuri to get back to work, and Yuri is forced to run through his program. Victor is left to his own devices, which suits him just fine.

He skates a few laps around the rink to warm up before skating to the wall in order to scroll through the music on his phone. He finds the song he’s looking for, and hits play. The tinny sounds of a violin filter through his earbuds as the tango starts. Victor’s been playing around with different themes and music choices for his upcoming season. He’d been debating on taking a leaf out of Chris’ book and doing something-- there’s not better word for it-- sexy. Something sensual and seductive, but more subtle than any of Chris’ programs. Victor’s not scared to show himself off but he draws the line somewhere and while he’s okay with taking half nude pictures with Chris, rubbing his ass on live television is firmly on the other side of that line. Not that he doesn’t love Chris, of course.

VIctor lets the music play once, then twice. The third time it starts playing Victor pushes off from the wall and just starts skating. He lets the music guide his movements, tries to improvise on the spot to get a feel for the music. There’s a pause in the music here that could work for a jump, a bridge there that has the beat for a step sequence. He loves this best, when he’s allowed to skate and simply create.

He sets the music on repeat and lets it play a few times. He tries to visualize the shape of a program but nothing materializes. He pushes himself into a sit spin and lifts his leg up above his head, but nothing comes to mind afterwards. There’s little parts to the music that could work, 10 seconds here and there but overall he can’t feel anything special about it. Victor doesn’t know if it’s just the music of if it’s him. This is the fifth piece he’s tried in as many days. Frustrated, Victor halts abruptly in the middle of the rink. He rips his earbuds out. The other skaters fly past him and he can feel a few of their stares. It’s humiliating. He wants to scream. He just doesn’t understand why. This used to be one of his favorite parts of skating and he can’t even get it right anymore, so what’s the point?

Victor leaves practice early that day. He ignores Mila and Yuri’s concerned questions, and Yakov’s uneasy look. He doesn’t want to deal with them.

  
  


**Yuuri Katsuki:** guess what

**Victor Nikiforov** : what??

**Yuuri Katsuki:** my tour’s almost over! :D

**Yuuri Katsuki:** our last performance is in a few days

**Victor Nikiforov:**  nice congrats

**Victor Nikiforov:**  don’t you love dancing though? 

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i do but touring’s not my favorite thing honestly

**Yuuri Katsuki:** it’s so exhausting

**Yuuri Katsuki:** and you never know what the theaters are going to be like

**Yuuri Katsuki** : i prefer it when we’re back in boston

**Victor Nikiforov:**  so far away!

**Yuuri Katsuki:** yeah … 

**Victor Nikiforov:**  boston’s a nice city though

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i went there for worlds last year

**Victor Nikiforov:**  we didn’t get that much time to sightsee but we got to go to the commons and everything

**Yuuri Katsuki:** you should come some time

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i’d show u around

**Yuuri Katsuki:** if u want to i mean

**Yuuri Katsuki:** only if u want to do i dont want to force u or anything sorry if that’s awkward

**Victor Nikiforov:**  :DDDDD of course!!!!

**Victor Nikiforov:**  if my coach ever lets me lol

**Yuuri Katsuki:** ah yeah

**Yuuri Katsuki:** our director’s a little crazy sometimes

**Yuuri Katsuki:** he’s a genius though

**Yuuri Katsuki:** we all love him

**Victor Nikiforov:**  your company sounds so great

**Yuuri Katsuki** : they’re family

  
  


Here’s the thing about Yuuri: he stays when he absolutely doesn’t have to. In fact, Victor completely doesn’t expect him to. Hell, he thinks even he wouldn’t have been this kind to a stranger who asked him for his number out of the blue like a fucking creeper but Yuuri is one of a kind. Yuuri is thoughtful and caring, honest and refreshing. He is frighteningly humble but also confident and secure in his ability to dance. He gets adorably flustered but puts up with everyone of Victor’s awful jokes.

It’s so much more than Victor could have ever dreamed of and it overwhelms him sometimes, makes him feel lost. Sometimes kindness is the scariest thing out there.

  
  


**Victor Nikiforov:** chris

**Victor Nikiforov:**  do you remember when you told me not to do the impulsive thing

**Christophe Giacometti:** yes

**Victor Nikiforov:**  well i did the impulsive thing

**Christophe Giacometti:**?????

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i asked this guy for his number

**Christophe Giacometti:** omg my vitya is growing up :’)

**Victor Nikiforov:**  chris im older than u

**Christophe Giacometti:** :’)

**Victor Nikiforov:**  anyways its not like that

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i went to the ballet bc i was feeling uninspired this season

**Victor Nikiforov:**  and the principal dancer was absolutely beautiful

**Victor Nikiforov:**  so stunning and expressive with every motion

**Victor Nikiforov:**  you could feel it

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i want to skate like that chris

**Christophe Giacometti:** don’t we all

**Victor Nikiforov:**  chris i mean it

**Victor Nikiforov:**  so i went to the back of the theater and asked him for his number after his show

**Christophe Giacometti:** so you stalked him???

**Victor Nikiforov:**  NO

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i mean

**Victor Nikiforov:**  its just

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i didn’t know what to do

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i didn’t want to lose that feeling

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s been so long chris

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i’m so tired

**Christophe Giacometti** : I know, vitya, it’s ok

**Christophe Giacometti:** So?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i’ve been talking to him

**Victor Nikiforov:**  his names yuuri btw

**Victor Nikiforov:**  he’s lovely !!!!!!

**Christophe Giacometti:** awwwwww

**Christophe Giacometti** : that’s cute

**Victor Nikiforov:**  we’re just friends

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i mean

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i think we’re friends???

**Victor Nikiforov:**  what if he thinks i’m annoying?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  he’s so nice

**Victor Nikiforov:**  it’s honestly too much sometimes

**Christophe Giacometti:** Vitya

**Christophe Giacometti** : deep breaths

**Christophe Giacometti:** he’s still talking to you right?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  Yes

**Christophe Giacometti:** then you’re friends 

**Christophe Giacometti:** i’m still here, aren’t i?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  yah but ur chris

**Christophe Giacometti:** wow i feel the love 

**Victor Nikiforov:**  wuv u

**Christophe Giacometti:** god pls dont do that

**Christophe Giacometti:** are you happy vitya?

**Victor Nikiforov:**  i

**Victor Nikiforov:** i think so

**Christophe Giacometti:** then go for it ok?

**Christophe Giacometti:** i just want you to be happy

**Christophe Giacometti:** u deserve it

**Christophe Giacometti:** i mean it

**Victor Nikiforov:**  thanks chris

**Christophe Giacometti:** that what friends are for :)))

**Victor Nikiforov:**  <3

**Christophe Giacometti:** <3

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i have a tentative number of chapters now!! ch 2 took me a little longer to write bc i decided i was going to be a somewhat functional person and organize everything for this fic. I think my update schedule will rougly be once ever 2-3 weeks, hopefully 2, unless anything happens (aka school). the numbe rof chapters might change depending on how long they become
> 
> sorry this part is sorta slow and very victor centric! i needed to establish all th eexposition and stuff etcetc there will be more yuuri and more action in the next chapter! :o this is still very much victor's story though
> 
> and of course thank you all for the support and comments! it means so much to me <3
> 
> (btw anyone watch us nationals? i screamed when nathan did the fifth quad. S(quad) is at it again. who knows what men's figure skating will throw at us next lol maybe shoma will put in his quad loop. i'll actually die. also, imagine the tango victor is skating to is shoma's loco fs, it's funny. anyways if anyone wants to talk about ice skating and/or ballet, hmu at dirtyhancls.tumblr.com!)


	3. Ch. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of skating 24/7 and feeling sorry for himself, Victor doesn’t text Yuuri for a week. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it just does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: the youtube link at the end of the ch isn't supposed to work 
> 
> ALSO i'm so sorry ik i said 3 weeks and it's been like, 2 months but hey, better late than never right? lol i'm about to go on spring break so you can probably expect the next chapter pretty soon. and in compensation, take a long chapter. it got massively long. i never meant for this to happen, but there it is.
> 
> things are finally progressing in plot! im very excited to write more guys :) and if i don't update in like a month, then i give u guys permission to yell at me 
> 
> btw, who wants to cry about world championships in a week? i'm so stressed, who knows what'll happen tbh, maybe yuzu will finally break his worlds curse lmao

Victor decides to throw himself into skating. It’s easy, familiar in a way that comforts but also doesn’t. The movements are there ingrained in his body, and he lets them take over, moves through his days like clockwork, lets the rhythm of routine take over. It’s mind numbingly easy to surrender himself, so he does. He goes to the rink, laces his skates, stretches before stepping onto the ice. He lets Yakov yell at him, bothers Yuri a bit, drills his quad lutz. He prefers this over having to think about the ticking time bomb that’s become his career and his body. Skating is easy, life less so.

 

His conversation with Chris still lingers in his mind too. He can’t not think about it. He hadn’t meant to break down like that. Victor knows inside that Chris doesn’t care, that he would want Victor to talk to him, but it feels a little too much like being a burden anyways. Too vulnerable, too much like complaining.  Feels a bit too much like he’s ungrateful for the medals and the awards and the titles, like he’s not appreciating what he’s got and can only ask for more. Victor knows it’s an irrational feeling, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling it.

He thinks even Yuri’s started to notice, The younger boy was never all that great with emotions but he’s been staring at Victor aggressively in practice lately, more so than usual. The other day he’d stuffed a lunchbox into Victor’s arms after practice and said,”Don’t get fat,” before leaving. The lunchbox had turned out to contain some of Yuri’s grandfather’s pirohzki and Victor had smiled then. It was such a hopelessly Yuri-like gesture. He’d finished them all that night and given the lunchbox back to Yuri the next day at practice. 

“Thanks,” he’d said, ruffling Yuri’s hair because he could.

“Whatever, old man,” Yuri had said irritably and ducked out from Victor’s reach.  
  


In the midst of skating 24/7 and feeling sorry for himself, Victor doesn’t text Yuuri for a week. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it just does. Everytime he picks up the phone to tell Yuuri something he remembers his conversation with Chris, the overwhelming way he’d thought of Yuuri and ached with it, and something in Victor catches. It’s not Yuuri’s fault at all, and Victor feels vaguely guilty for leaving off like this but texting Yuuri seems like an impossible task at this point, and Victor can’t seem to find the energy to form word. There’s no words for what he wants to say, so Victor doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s that much easier.

And then Yuuri surprises him again.  
  


It’s midnight in St. Petersburg, but the city is more alive than ever. The night sky is lit with the lights of the city and night sounds drift in through the window of Victor’s apartment. He’d chosen the building for its proximity to the rink and to the downtown which meant sacrificing quiet for the low murmur of nightlife in St. Petersburg, but Victor likes the business of it all. He likes feeling connected to the city in this way, half in and half out.

It’s midnight in St. Petersburg and Victor is still awake. He can’t seem to fall asleep. The harder he tries, the more awake he feels, until he’s decides it’s best to give up. He lays there, eyes closed, one hand on Makkachin who is laying next to him and feels the slow rise and fall of her breath. Pale moonlight filters in through the blinds on the window and cuts across the blankets on the bed. The sounds of the city play a familiar lullaby in the background. It’s a welcome distraction from the thought in his mind that don’t seem to want to go away. There’s something about midnight that just begs for introspection, that drags all the thing you don’t want to think about to the front of your mind. Midnight recognizes your vulnerability and capitalizes on it, because otherwise you’d never think about these things.

Victor doesn’t appreciate it. There’s thoughts he buries for a reason, things he forgets because he wants to. He thinks midnight’s a bit rude for pointing them out. 

He shifts his body until he’s laying on his side and listens to the rustling of the blankets. Five minutes later his body’s already itching with the restless urge to move again and he turns his body again, this time to the other side. It’s not enough. Nothing he does seems to be enough, so Victor sits up on his bed and decides that if he’s not going to sleep, he might as well do something productive.

Victor grabs a pair of sweatpants and socks and pulls them both onto his body. He moves to his kitchen where the tiled floor makes it easy for the fabric of his socks to slip and slide. It’s a poor facsimile of skating at best, but it’ll do for his purposes. Victor pushes off from one foot and spins on the ball of his other, bringing his arms in close. He makes it around twice. This is how Victor likes to start all his routines. He plans them out in the privacy of his own personal home rink in the kitchen before ever stepping onto the ice. It’s a throwback to his childhood days when he couldn’t always get to the rink and Yakov hadn’t found him yet. Even when he was little, Victor had been doggedly persistent. If he couldn’t go to the rink, he’d bring the rink home with him. He’d scare his mom by trying to do spirals in the kitchen. Now it’s something familiar and comforting, a little piece of his childhood that he carries with him always.

RIght now he doesn’t have anything specific in mind, so he pulls up his music and sets it to shuffle. He hopes that moving will settle his mind and body enough that he can go to sleep. A jazzy Gershwin piano piece starts playing and Victor lets the rippling of the notes fill the the room before striking a pose and moving. He lets the music take him where it will. He’s dimly aware that this is probably ridiculous and not a good way to cope, but it’s midnight in St. Petersburg and there’s no one else in his apartment to tell him otherwise. The music rises in a last crescendo and Victor jumps with it. He pulls his arms close and swings his legs around in a single axel, nothing fancy because he’s not suicidal enough to try jumps full out when he hasn’t warmed up. He lands and hops a little to dispel the momentum and then holds the landing position as the music dies out. He can hear his breathing in the slight pause it takes for his phone to switch between songs.

The next song starts to play, an obnoxious pop song that Victor loves to death. He grins and throws himself into it. There’s no way he’d even skate a routine to this so he forgets about skating all together and swings his hips to the beat. It’s ridiculous and awful and completely fun.

And then the music is interrupted by Victor’s ringtone. He’s almost disappointed, and then he remembers that it’s midnight and there are very few people who have his phone number in the first place. Victor stops his dancing and walks over to the counter to pick up the phone. Yuuri’s name is on the screen.

Victor doesn’t know what to make of it at first, but those letters definitely spell out Yuuri Katsuki. His first reaction is one of happiness, a warm pleased feeling that Yuuri has actually called him but it’s gone as soon as he feels it and Victor remembers that he hasn’t talked to Yuuri in over a week. The guilt hits him again, that familiar, deep-seated ache and he can hear Chris in the back of his mind. Victor doesn’t know what to say to Yuuri anymore.

Victor realizes that he’s been staring at the phone in his hands for too long now, and fumbles in his haste to answer the call. He drops it, and swears. The ringtone stops. Victor scrambles to pick up his phone and before he can think about what he’s doing, he finds himself redialing Yuuri’s number. Yuuri picks it up almost immediately.

“Yuuuuuuri!” Victor sings into his phone. 

“V-Victor,” he hears Yuuri say as Victor walks out of his kitchen to his living room and sinks down on the sofa there.

“Yuuri! How are you?” Victor asks him, because that’s what you ask people when they call you. 

“I’m-- I’m fine, Victor,” Yuuri says. “But what about you? Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Victor picks at a loose thread on his couch.

“Oh,” Yuuri’s voice goes quiet here, the uncertainty clear in his voice and Victor feels vaguely guilty. “It’s just-- sorry, it’s nothing. Sorry I called you out of the blue like this I--”

“No, no,” Victor hastens to cut Yuuri off. “No, it’s fine! I’m very glad you called me Yuuri. Miss me?”

“Ah, not at all actually,” Yuuri says and Victor imagines a playful smiling tugging at his lips. “It was nice and quiet actually. Peaceful, if you can imagine that. No terrible pick up lines.”

Victor laughs into the phone, delighted. 

“But you like my pick up lines,” he says, a teasing note to his voice.

“I think that’s all in your head, Victor,”  Yuuri says in a tone completely serious. 

“So cruel, Yuuri,” Victor whines, and then laughs again. He leans back into the cushions of his couch and tilts his head back to rest on the edge of the sofa. Soft strands of hair fall into his face so he pushes his bangs back and rests his hand behind his head.

“Well,” Yuuri says after a moment. “They’re ok.”

“Aha!” Victor says triumphantly. “I knew it. You love me Yuuri, admit it.”

“Nope.”

“I’m hurt!”

Yuuri laughs here, something unguarded and free and intoxicating and Victor revels in it. There’s a slight pause in the conversation as both Victor and Yuuri are quiet.

Then Yuuri continues, “Um, I mean what I said though. Sorry for calling like this… you haven’t texted me for a while and you’re probably super busy and everything but I wasn’t sure what to think and… sorry I’m going on. Are you okay?”

Victor listens to Yuuri ramble. When he’s finished, Victor is quiet. The silence stretches between them, the air thick with it, heavy and suffocating as neither one of them knows exactly what to say. Victor considers the question in his mind. Is he okay? What does okay mean? He thinks about the way he’s been living, day to day and barely holding on. He thinks about the way he’s been skating, bored and uninspired. He thinks about his conversation with Chris. He thinks about all these things and then asks himself, is he okay?

Victor thinks he can honestly say he’s okay, but the problem is that okay is worlds away from great.

Yuuri breaks the silence for him.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” he says, a little too hesitantly for Victor’s liking.

Victor sighs, cutting Yuuri off from continuing.

“Yuuuri,” he says. “It’s- it’s fine, really. Sorry for not texting.”

“No no,” he hears Yuuri saying. “Don’t apologize for that, it’s fine you don’t owe it to me at all. I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

Victor closes his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks for asking. I’m-- I’m just--”

He doesn’t mean to pause here. The words should come out easily, but instead they don’t. Yuuri called him. Yuuri called him just to see if he’s okay. Yuuri is so unbelievably kind and Victor doesn’t know what to do in the face of that. He wants to tell Yuuri not to worry about him, that he’s fine, but something inside Victor can’t bring himself to say it. There’s something about talking to Yuuri that just begs for honesty, and he can’t bring himself to say the words, “I’m fine.”

Victor takes a deep breath, and then another one. He slinks a bit further into the cushions on his sofa, as if they’ll somehow protect himself from the truth of the matter. Another breath.

Again, Yuuri saves him the trouble of having to answer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuri asks, soft voice all concern.

Victor laughs but it’s a soft exhale of breath.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Yuuri continues. 

“I don’t know,” Victor says, in a moment of complete honesty that surprises himself. 

Yuuri pauses.

“You don’t have to,” Yuuri says after a moment. “But I find that talking helps.”

“Yeah,” Victor says. There’s another pause. Victor can hear the slow rhythm of Yuuri’s breathing through the phone. It’s soothing.

“Hey, Victor,” Yuuri says.

“Hey yourself,” Victor says. Yuuri laughs.

“Hey,” he says again. “Can we, um, skype or something? Is that okay?”

Victor isn’t expecting this from Yuuri but he’s pleased nonetheless, and hurries to respond. “Yes, of course. Of course that’s okay, Yuuri.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “I’ll text you my skype username. I guess I’ll just, um, hang up now. Bye!”

“Bye, Yuuri!” Victor says with a small laugh. His phone chimes almost immediately with the notification from Yuuri’s text.

**Yuuri Katsuki:** katsudon21 

Victor picks himself up from his spot on the couch and makes his way towards his bedroom. He’s careful to be as quiet as possible, because Makkachin is still sleeping on his bed and Victor doesn’t want to disturb her. At least one of them deserves a full night’s sleep. He grabs his laptop from its spot on his desk and one of the blankets on his bed as quietly as possible before returning to his spot on the couch. He makes himself comfortable there, curling his legs under him on the sofa and burrowing into the blanket for warmth. The laptop goes in the middle of his little blanket nest and while he’s waiting for it to start up, Victor sends a quick text to Yuuri.

**Victor Nikiforov:** thanks :)))))

**Victor Nikiforov:** mine’s vnikiforov_

**Yuuri Katsuki:** ok

As soon as his laptop starts, Victor opens skype and logs on. There’s a contact request from one katsudon21. It reads, “Hi I’d like to add you as a contact. This is Yuuri, just in case :)” 

Victor clicks on the blue accept button, and his laptop tells him Yuuri Katsuki is online. He can see Yuuri’s profile picture. It’s Yuuri’s face partially obscured by a lot of brown fur. Victor realizes that must be Yuuri’s dog, and Victor feels a distant pang in his heart, a sympathetic pain. He can’t imagine living away from Makkachin. 

The music from the call notification interrupts his staring, and Victor realizes he’s sort of being creepy. He hastens to smooth down his hair, and brush his bangs out of face before accepting the call. After a few seconds, Yuuri’s face blinks into existence on his screen.

Victor realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Yuuri’s face since that first meeting a few months ago. Of course they’ve talked and texted, but always through the phone. This is new, but nice. It’s good.

Yuuri is wearing glasses. His hair lays flat on his head and it looks damp, as if he’s just taken a shower. He’s wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved thermal shirt that hugs his frame in all the right places. In the background Victor can see a bookshelf that’s full and posters covering the walls. Yuuri leans back in his chair and gives Victor a smile. He looks good. Really good.

“Yuuuuri!” Victor says, dragging out the syllables in Yuuri’s name. “Hi!”

“Hi Victor,” Yuuri says, and then blinks. “Oh my god, I forgot-- is it night in Russia? I’m sorry if it’s late, we can talk another time--”

“It’s fine Yuuri,” Victor says. He’s forgotten that he hadn’t turned on the lights in the room, instead electing to rely on the pale light of his laptop screen. “I always have time for you.”

Here, Victor winks at the screen. Yuuri blushes, a faint red tinge to his cheeks that Victor finds hopelessly endearing.

“Oh,” says Yuuri, quietly. “Okay then.”

“It’s really fine though,” Victor continues, because he can sense some of Yuuri’s unease bleeding through. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.

Yuuri asks him again, “Do you want to talk about it?” and this time Victor considers the questions for real, thinks about the way he’s been living and the way it’s been overwhelming, and it’s all he can do to nod.

Yuuri nods with him. Victor doesn’t say anything, so Yuuri continues.    


“Is there… anything specific? Something bothering you?”

Victor shrugs, not trusting himself to speak. He looks down from his computer screen and fingers the edge of his blanket. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yuuri nod again.

“That’s okay,” Yuuri says. “You don’t have to know.”

Another moment of silence, one that seems to last forever to Victor even though it’s probably only a few seconds and he feels bad for wasting this gift that Yuuri’s given him. Their first call and Victor doesn’t even have something to say, so Victor hastens to come up with something--anything.

“It’s just-- “   


“I--”

“Oh my god I’m sorry--”

“My bad I--”

“Here you go--”

“No you can go--”

They both stop speaking, and look at each other for a moment. Yuuri bursts out laughing and Victor can’t help but follow. It’s a few seconds before they both recover enough to speak again, but Victor feels oddly refreshed by this moment, small and dumb as it is.

“You go first,” Yuuri says with a small smile, gesturing at Victor through the screen.

Victor takes a deep breath. “It’s-- I don’t know how to explain it. It’s everything really.”

Yuuri hums noncommittally, and nods along, so Victor continues.

“Everything’s just-- not what it used to be. It’s all different. Even skating”

Victor’s voice trails off on those last words, impossibly quiet, unwilling to give concession to this admission. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Do you love skating?” Yuuri asks him.

“I-- of course,” Victor says, but the words feel hollow even as he says them. He looks away from the computer screen, away from Yuuri’s face.

“I hate ballet,” Yuuri says, so matter of fact and bluntly that it makes Victor look back at the screen. Yuuri’s smiling wryly, a slight tilt to his head. He shrugs. “Sometimes, I really hate it.”

“How can you say that?” Victor asks him.

“I mean it,” says Yuuri entirely seriously. “I mean, I love ballet more than anything. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it but sometimes--” Yuuri sighs here “--it’s so much. I wonder.”

He pauses. 

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I didn’t. I told you that I struggled with making friends right? Now that I think about, some of that was me and some of it wasn’t. I’m not-- I’m not the most outgoing person, but ballet sort of made it worse. I was always dancing. Sometimes the other kids would ask me to go places and I’d tell them I had ballet, because I did but I was also sort of hiding.”

“That’s not on you,” Victor hurries to say in the pause Yuuri uses to take a breath. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “It’s not entirely. It’s just-- I’ve dedicated my life to ballet. I moved to America for college just so I could get in a good company. I haven’t seen my parents or my sister or my dog in ages. Sometimes it just makes me wonder what else I’ve missed, you know?”

Victor thinks he does know. Yuuri is talking about himself, but the story is eerily familiar. Victor thinks about the way he’s made skating his life, the way he’d dived into it and never looked back, and thinks that he might know a little about what Yuuri’s talking about. 

“Sometimes I hate the way ballet is so competitive and cutthroat. Or I feel like we’re losing some of the artistry involved. Or sometimes you wake up feeling sore and awful and you still have to go to 8 hours of rehearsal.”

Yuuri shrugs in a half hearted sort of way, tilting his head to one side as he does.

“But in the end, I love ballet more than anything. There’s moments where I think, this is awful, but I don’t regret any of it. Can you say that about skating?”

If Yuuri had asked Victor a year or two again, he would have said yes with no hesitation whatsoever, too star struck by the ice to ever care about anything else. Now, Victor is twenty seven and he’s done all there is to do in ice skating. The adrenaline and the thrill have started to wear off and he has a whole career to look back on.

Victor leans back into the sofa and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. He can feel the weight of Yuuri’s eyes on him. In his mind he can see the tiny four year old taking his first steps on the ice, unaware of the path that’s about to open. If he focuses enough, he can feel the cold touch of the wind whistling by as he skates and the smooth feeling of the ice under his blades.

“I don’t regret it,” Victor finally says, and he can feel the truth in the words even as he says them. 

“Then it’s okay not to love it all the time,” Yuuri says. “That’s the thing they don’t tell you, you know? It’s hard.”

Victor sighs and turns away from the screen. “I know. It’s just-- it feels so empty nowadays. All the time. It’s not the same. My skating’s not enough anymore.”

Yuuri is quiet, which makes Victor more nervous than ever.

“Inspiration?” Yuuri asks.

“Yes and no,” VIctor says. “It’s more than that. Skating feels… heavy.”

Victor says the word heavy because he can’t think of a better way to put, but Yuuri’s nodding along like he understands.

“And skating’s like flying. Light. ” 

This response more than anything hits Victor hard in the chest because somehow Yuuri’s managed to pick up on everything Victor had tried to say but couldn’t. It’s everything Victor feels summed up in one metaphor, but Yuuri gets it. Yuuri sees it.

Victor doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods once.

Yuuri is quiet. He looks like he’s thinking, so Victor leaves it be. Yuuri pushes his glasses up on his face and fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt, before opening his mouth to say something. Apparently he changes his mind, because he closes his mouth again. Victor realizes Yuuri is nervous, or anxious, or both, so he does his best to smile encouragingly. Victor can pinpoint the moment Yuuri makes up his mind because Yuuri gets a serious sort of look in his eyes. There’ still concern and warmth, but there’s something else too.

“Sorry if it’s not my place to say this,” Yuuri says, slowly, “but have you talked to anyone about this?”

Victor shakes his head no. 

“Not even your coach?”

“Yakov’s not the...warmest person,” Victor says, somewhat amused by the thought. He knows Yakov cares, but his relationship with Yakov has never been a touchy-feely one.

“Have you ever thought about it?”

Victor shrugs. “Not really.”

Yuuri makes a small humming noise. He hesitates slightly before speaking-- Victor can see it in the way he leans forward slightly and takes a breath before speaking.

“I think you should. Maybe not your coach, then, but someone else?”

“I’m talking to you,” Victor says and gives Yuuri one of his flirty smiles. 

Yuuri’s cheeks turn faintly pink again, and he looks down. “But I’m not good at this sort of thing. You should talk to a professional.”

“I think you’re pretty good at it,” Victor tells Yuuri, because Yuuri will always underestimate himself and Victor hates it.

“Ah, I mean,” Yuuri starts to say, “like a therapist.”

Victor doesn’t like the thought of a therapist much. He feels overly vulnerable already just talking to Yuuri like this, and the idea of being ripped open from the inside by a stranger doesn’t appeal to him much.

Yuuri seems to know what he’s thinking because he stumbles over his own words in his hurry to continue speaking.

“It’s like-- i think it’s very helpful. It-- It helped me a lot.”

This last part is said impossibly quietly, almost so that Victor can’t hear it. It catches his attention though, and Victor sits up slightly in his blankets.

Yuuri has one hand behind his neck and his head is turned downwards, slightly away from the screen. 

“I, um,”  says Yuuri. He looks up and meets Victor’s eyes. “I have anxiety. That’s sort of why I was drawn to ballet in the first place, because you can speak through your body and the movements. But then it kept getting worse until I was so nervous I could barely perform on stage. That was the worst part, because I couldn’t even dance. Talking with a therapist through some of it really helped me.”

Yuuri says most of this in one long breath. He pauses now, breathes, and looks at Victor. It’s all Victor can do to look back at Yuuri: incredible, brave, Yuuri who struggles with this everyday and still goes out and performs his best; Yuuri, who trusts Victor enough to share this because he wants to help Victor; Yuuri, who is so many things Victor can’t even describe.

Victor tries to tell him as much.

“Yuuri--you--you’re”

But Yuuri only shakes his head at him. 

“It’s really nothing,” he says, and Victor sort of wants to reach through the screen and shake him.

“You would never be able to tell,” Victor says, “Your Onegin was beautiful. Incredible.”

Yuuri gives a small laugh that’s more of a scoff than anything else. 

“You don’t even know. You saw me opening night right? I was terrified. It was one of my first lead roles and Onegin, of all things, in Russia. My friend, Phichit, he had to talk me down because I was so nervous.”

“I’m so sorry,” Victor says hastily, but Yuuri brushes it off.

“It’s not your fault or anything,” Yuuri says, but all Victor can think of is Yuri Plisetsky and his harsh words. I can’t wait till they fuck it up, Yuri had said. Victor knows Yuuri has no possible way of knowing about that and that Yuri’s like, twelve or something and a child, but he still can’t help but feel guilty.  There it was, Yuuri’s worst fear made real.

Yuuri’s looking at him like he can see through him and Victor feels like glass, transparent and brittle.

“But yeah,” Yuuri says. “Sometimes talking is helpful.”   


“Maybe, “ Victor says, and they don’t really mention it again that night. Victor changes the subject instead, intent on the thoughts in his head and wanting a distraction. “What’s your favorite role?”

“Oh no,” Yuuri says, but he’s smiling, so Victor counts it a win. “That’s so hard.”

And then Yuuri starts talking about roles and characters that Victor doesn’t half understand but is quite content to listen to because it’s Yuuri talking and he could listen to Yuuri all night. He almost does, in fact, until Yuuri realizes it’s probably extremely late in Russia and apologizes for keeping Victor up. They’ve talked for hours, it seems, and Victor can’t quite remember exactly everything they mentioned but it doesn’t really matter because it’s Yuuri. They say good night, with promises to talk again some other time, and Victor goes to bed quite content, in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. He falls asleep easily this time.  
  
  


Victor’s spins are terribly uncentered the next day at practice, and his step sequences sluggish. He’s exhausted and it shows, but Victor can’t bring himself to care enough. Yakov, of course, yells at him but when it’s clear that Victor’s not going to listen, he gives up and stomps over to Yuri. Victor watches on in amusement as Yuri’s forced to drill step sequence after step sequence and sends pointed glares in Victor’s direction. Victor waves at him once, and only enjoys it a little.

During his break, Victor is scrolling through YouTube ballet videos. He’d started by searching up Yuuri’s name and it had snowballed from there. Victor is amazed watching these ballet dancers. It’s the precision, the musicality, the artistry, the emotion. It’s the athleticism that goes into it and the way they make it all seem so easy, so graceful. It’s all of those things and more, and Victor wonders at it, awed.

These dancers do more than dance, Victor thinks. They speak with their bodies. Every motion is delicate, deliberate. Every breath and arm movement and placement of the head says something more, adds something else. The movement is perfectly timed to the music until it seems like dancer and music are one. The rise and fall of the music echoes itself in the body. This, Victor thinks, is what he wants.  
  
  


“Hi Yakov!” Victor says cheerfully, after practice that day.

Yakov raises an eyebrow at him. “Have you come to make up for your dismal practice today?”

“I have something better for you,” Victor tells him with a wink and he swears he can see Yakov’s blood pressure go up.

“Spit it out,” Yakov says with arms crossed, looking at Victor disapprovingly.

Victor sobers here, and Yakov seems to sense his change in mood because he softens his expression, slightly.

“I’ve picked out the music for next season,” Victor says. Yakov doesn’t say anything, so he continues. “I’m going to compete another season.”

“You’ll be 28,” Yakov says finally. 

“I know,” he says because Victor does know. He’s thought long and hard about this decision all day. “I can do it.”

“Humph,” Yakov grunts, and Victor knows he has Yakov on his side. “I’ll tell the RSF.”

“Thanks, Yakov!” Victor says with a genuine note of gratitude in his voice that he thinks Yakov hears because the man only says, “Yeah, yeah.”

Victor’s about to leave before he remembers the last thing he’d meant to ask Yakov. 

“Oh and Yakov,” he says, “do you think Lilia will still take me?”

 

There’s one thing he still hasn’t mentioned to Yakov, because it’s still a new feeling in Victor’s mind, something he’s trying to figure out. This will be his last season. Competitive skating was always meant to end somewhere and Victor thinks after this season he can say good bye and feel content with the decision. This will be his last season and it’ll be his greatest one yet. Maybe he’ll try out that fancy quad loop in competition, and maybe he’ll wow everyone and maybe he won’t, but this season Victor intends to do skating justice. He’ll do it right this time, show the world what he truly has and he’ll do right by Yuuri too, and the inspiration and comfort he’s found there. It’s all that matters.

 

**Victor Nikiforov:** youtube.com/watch?2SD4hDJs-Ks

**Yuuri Katsuki:** omg that’s one of my favs

**Victor Nikiforov:** it’s my music for my free skate this year

**Yuuri Katsuki:** !!!!!!

**Yuuri Katsuki:** ahhhhh i can’t wait to see it

**Yuuri Katsuki:** i’m sure it’ll be amazing

**Victor Nikiforov:** thanks yuuri :))))

  
  
  
  



End file.
